


To Feed The Tree

by prettyprettea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game), The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angry Din Djarin, Choking, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Jealous Din Djarin, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Power Dynamics, Sexual Fantasy, Smut, Soft Din Djarin, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:42:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28659669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyprettea/pseuds/prettyprettea
Summary: You've always had a crush on your herbology teacher; he was sweet, kind, and the most caring person you'd encountered at Hogwarts. In your seventh year, you think maybe it'll be the chance to express how you really feel - but how do you feel about a man you barely know?
Relationships: Din Djarin & Reader, Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s), Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You, Toro Calican/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 161





	1. Heat and Sweat

Your hands shook as you reached for the metallic handle, fingers clasping it firmly as if to steady yourself. This was what you had waited all summer for – a chance to walk into the bright glass greenhouses, the place where your favourite classes were held. Sunlight beamed down on the foliage, many species you had helped to grow yourself, making the large room look as much like a jungle as the strangling heat made it feel.

Creaking lightly, you weren’t quite able to tell if the room’s only human occupant had heard you, but as you stepped around a small tree propped up on a table, his eyes lifted from his faded notebook to rest on your hesitant figure. His deep cocoa eyes lit up in delight, a small smile gracing his lips, unobstructed by his neatly trimmed moustache. Hair tousled as though he’d woken up and come straight to the greenhouses, and shirt sleeves rolled up to expose his sun-kissed forearms, you had to force yourself not to stare. Though it seemed that he’d looked forward to this day as much as you had, you had no doubt it was for completely different reasons. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he gushed, picking up a wicker basket from under the table where he stood. His accent was so much different to what you were used to, obvious to anyone he had moved continents to come to Hogwarts, and it always took some getting used to. "You have potions after lunch, correct?” 

“I – Yes, that’s right.” You offered, surprised he’d looked over your timetable so soon; obviously, it was to schedule when you could come in outside of lesson time to tend to the plants, but it made your heart flutter knowing he knew where to find you most of the day.

“You’re going to be making the draught of peace, so Doctor Pershing has asked if we could supply some Hellebore - I think they’ve used up all of it in the store cupboard.” He explained, long legs easily reaching you quickly. 

Handing you the basket, he placed a hand between your shoulder blades to guide your body to turn, causing goose bumps to appear across your skin; you were glad your thin shirt could hide them well. Though it was September, the summer heat was yet to leave the country, and it was only emphasised by the glass creating a sweltering sauna in the unconventional classroom. You’d had sense to forgo your cardigan, though it only made you more aware of the heat radiating off of the palm of his hand nestled safely on your back.

With his other hand, he pointed back towards the door, to a more shaded corner of the greenhouse covered in pale pink star-shaped blossoms. 

“I assume you’ve only seen the syrup; they really are a beautiful plant, but if you use the wrong species it’s toxic. These ones aren’t though – I hope.” He raised his eyebrow, lips twitching to hide a smirk; an obvious joke, though your blank expression led him to think you thought him serious. “I’m joking, I assure you.”

Nodding slowly, lips ever so slightly parted, you allowed him to think that the reason for your silence. You wouldn’t allow him to know it was because you were instead staring at his lips rather than that arguably less enrapturing plant, mind gone to mush from his gentle touch. You were glad he was so oblivious to your evident admiration, not wanting to make your relationship strange. He was your professor after all, and had been teaching at Hogwarts for much longer than you had attended. It would be inappropriate and damning for you both, but you couldn’t deny how often the thought would cross your mind.

“I’ll make sure to take them with me after lunch.” You spluttered, ripping yourself from his addictive heat to busy yourself in the corner, plucking the delicate buds off of their stems, making sure to leave enough for the plant to continue to grow. Your cheeks burned bright rouge, and you willed yourself to calm down before you had to turn to face your tormentor and put the buds in a jar in order to transport them to the potions classroom.

“How was your summer, anyway? Didn’t your Grandfather take you to Paris? He was telling us all about it last night.”

“Y-yes, he did. It was breath-taking. We visited the ministry there, and he even manged to let me go see some of the magical creatures they keep there. Did you know that they have cats that guard the place? Apparently they can change forms when provoked, but they looked very sweet to me.” You found yourself rambling, but your professor had always found that quite endearing. Generally you were quite quiet around him, but when you talked about something passionately, you couldn’t stop.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he smiled, busying his hands with packing soil into a terracotta pot. “I haven’t actually visited any of Europe yet. It must be nice.”

“It really is,” you turned, basket full of blush petals ready to be stored. Walking over to the cupboard that kept storage containers, you found it almost empty. Reaching to grab a large jar from the top shelf so that the petals couldn’t be crushed before being added to the draught of peace, you found yourself on your tiptoes, arm outstretched. 

“You need to restock this,” you said with a slight huff, the basket on your arm swaying along with your unsteady feet. Suddenly, a broad chest pressed against your back and a tanned arm appeared and grabbed the jar you had struggled to reach with ease. A puff of warm breath hit the side of your neck, and air caught in your throat as you choked back an embarrassing whine; his body left a soon as it appeared, but it was enough to leave you feeling all kinds of things you shouldn’t.

Silently passing the container to you, you thanked him before gently stuffing the blossoms into it. By the time the jar was full, you could feel your stomach beginning to pang with hunger. You’d left your bag in your room, not expecting to have needed to carry anything back from your free period, so cradling the fairly large jar in your arms, you turned to your professor.

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow then, Professor Djarin.” You told him, one hand on the handle of the greenhouse. 

“Wait!” he called from behind a plant, running over to you whilst putting his books into the bag slung over his shoulder. “I’ll walk to the great hall with you, let me carry that.”

Before you could protest his large hands had taken the jar from your arm, nestling it safely alongside his books. Gesturing for you to exit, he turned to lock the door before crossing the fields with you into the ancient castle, frown lines relaxing as the breeze whipped over his face.

\---  
Your jar of flowers was perched next to you on the table, your only company until your friends arrived from their last classes – you had ended up being a few minutes early to lunch, so the food had only just appeared, but you waited for your friends to arrive before starting to eat.

Cara and Fennec appeared together, both being in the same defence against the dark arts class. You had dropped that lesson as soon as you could, disliking anything that meant harming another. After all, unlike the Gryffindor and Slytherin currently taking seats opposite each other next to you, you wanted to help the Wizarding world peacefully, rather than to actively fight.

“I’m starving.” Cara exclaimed, grabbing a few sandwiches off the platter in front of her. “We were learning to cast a patronus charm. We covered it briefly in fifth year but we have to conjure a corporeal patronus now and it’s harder than you’d think. I’ll show you how to do it once I’ve figured it out myself; they can be used for all sorts, not just defence.”

“Slow down,” Fennec told Cara, carefully pouring some orange juice into her chalice. “You’ve been giving me a headache all day.”

“Sorry.” Cara apologised, patting the dark haired girls head. “What’s in the jar?”

“Hellebore.” You offered, briefly checking on the jar to make sure it was okay, and eagerly taking a few sandwiches and pieces of fruit from on top of the table. “It’s for potions, were making the Draught of Peace apparently.”

“And who told you that?” Fennec asked, and your quick glance towards the teachers dining table was all that she needed as confirmation before snickering. “Ah, you had your free period. Of course you went to the greenhouses.”

“Yeah, I have to get in all of the revision I can before the NEWTs.” You lied, and you knew your best friends saw right through it.

“Sure you do. It’s not like you’re not already top of your class or anything.” Cara chided, taking a plum off your plate.

As much as you loved your friends, sometimes you wished you knew more offensive charms to put them in their place. 

You’d become friends with Cara instantly – you met on the Hogwarts express, Cara offering to share her box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans after finding out your parents had never let you try them. Even though she had been sorted into Gryffindor and you Hufflepuff, you had still remained close and your friendship had only grown over the years.

Fennec was another story. True to Slytherin nature, she had been told to avoid Gryffindors like the plague, and avoid she did, only ever talking to you when Cara wasn’t around; except in your third year when you’d all had evening detention together, you had all bonded over your near death experience with a giant Acromantula in the forbidden forest. You never really trusted the groundskeeper after that.

“How is Professor Djarin anyway, did he miss you?” teased Fennec, and you swatted at her arm in embarrassment.

“Shut up!” you hissed, afraid someone would hear her. Many students had probably had a crush on a teacher at some point, though it didn’t make it any less awkward to talk about. People probably even had crushes on Professor Djarin; the thought made you uneasy.

“He asked how Paris was.” You mumbled, cheeks heating up discreetly.

“That’s cute,” Fennec continued, more invested in the conversation than the food she was currently picking at. “Maybe one day he’ll ask how you are.”

Cara smacked her on the shoulder.

“Don’t be mean.” She said, looking you over to make sure you were okay. Even though she thought the whole situation was a bit strange, she still tried to be a supportive friend no matter what (even if sometimes her influence could be questionable). 

You chatted idly throughout lunch, talking about your summers. Cara’s brother had come home for the summer, being a dragon trainer who had been living in Romania. As it was a surprise, Fennec had been home with Cara at the time, and it seemed that she, too, was developing a little crush. You told them about your time in Paris, and gave them each an Eiffel Tower keychain that had been sitting in your skirt pocket all day; though Muggle-ish and boring, the girls still expressed their love for them, and attached them to their bags.

“So have you heard the news?” Cara exclaimed, almost knocking her cup over with her overly animated hand gestures.

“What news?” Fennec asked, still fiddling with her tiny Eiffel Tower.

“No?” you offered. You were sure that if it as anything important, the two of you would have heard about it by now. News spread like wildfire through the castle, and rumours never stayed quiet for long. If your best friends weren’t so loyal, you doubted your secret crush would have stayed a secret for long.

“I can understand Fennec, but how haven’t you heard?” Cara directed at you, and you gave a little shrug. “I’d have thought your grandad would’ve told you, or you’d have at least overheard.

“Overheard what?” 

“He’s back; the Dark Lord.”

“Fuck off,” Fennec laughed, and you thought to second that statement. “The Dark Lord disappeared years ago, he’s dead.”

“Apparently not: Omera told me that Christian told her that Paz overheard Headmaster Kenobi discussing it with some of the senior teachers. Why would he want to talk about it if it wasn’t at least thought to be a little bit true?”

“Because Paz is full of shit.” stated Fennec. 

You were definitely sure you would have heard about that if it was true, considering you’d spent most of the summer with Headmaster Kenobi – your grandfather. He hadn’t given off one hint that something was wrong in the Wizarding World, and you were good at reading him most of the time.

“Definitely not; I would have heard about it already.” You said, shaking your head at the thought. 

“You’re just oblivious; too caught up thinking about your darling Professor.” 

“Shut up dickhead.” You quipped as the clock tower chimed, signalling the end of lunch. “Oh shit, my bag is still in my room. _Accio! _”__

__You began to walk down the halls to the potions classroom, knowing your bag, full of the supplies you needed, would soon catch up with you. The jar sat heavy in your arms, and you absentmindedly traced over where your Professor’s hands held it._ _

__The dungeon hallways seemed to be very busy, and you had to push past many students huddled in groups waiting to enter their classrooms. If you’d been a prefect, you may have scolded some of them for being too boisterous or causing obstructions, but you weren’t and you were in a hurry to get your container of Hellebore to class before it started._ _

__Your bag smacked you on the back of your head just as you were about to reach the potions classroom door, knocking you forward into a boy in your class minding his business just to the right of it. More preoccupied with holding onto the jar than where you were going to fall, he let out a small ‘oof’ as you barrelled straight into his chest, strong arms wrapping around your shoulders to steady you as he hit the wall.  
Although he had joined you class halfway through last year from a different potions room (apparently something to do with his behaviour and friends, something about causing a massive explosion) you didn’t remember his name, nor if you’d had any previous interactions._ _

__“I’m really sorry,” you cried, pulling yourself from where you were buried in his green tie so he could right himself. “My bag-”_ _

__“Yeah, I saw.” He said with a smirk, though it didn’t sound like he was particularly angry._ _

__Dropping to your knees, you put the jar on the ground and started to stuff your books and quills back in, tucking them away securely. Luckily, the small pot of ink hadn’t smashed in the collision, as the boy handed you it from where it had rolled across the floor._ _

__“Thank you.” You said quietly, putting it along with the rest of the things. Pulling the strap over your shoulder as you stood up, you picked up your flowers and turned back to the classroom. “We’d best be going in, um...”_ _

__“Toro. Toro Calican.” He supplied, holding the door open for you._ _

__“Oh, I’m-”_ _

__“I know. You made dragon dung fertiliser last year for Herbology and I haven’t forgiven you for it.”_ _

__Upon seeing your look of horror, Toro was quick to explain himself._ _

__“I’m joking, but please never do that again. Come on.” He nodded his head, gesturing for you to duck under his arm into the classroom._ _

__Offering him a shy smile, he followed you into the potions classroom, where you placed your bounty on Doctor Pershing’s desk. He thanked you for bringing it at such short notice, and told you to go take a seat.  
You sat in your normal seat, close to the back of the classroom, you saw Toro looking back at you from a few tables ahead. _ _

__“ _What? _” you mouthed, pulling some parchment and a quill out of your bag. If you were making the Draught of Peace that lesson, you needed to write your notes perfectly, considering how difficult it was to prepare. The last time you had made it, it hadn’t turned to the correct consistency, forcing you to have to start again.___ _

____“ _Nothing _.” Toro mouthed back, turning to the front of the classroom. You didn’t notice the sly flick of his wand, but did the torn off piece of parchment floating your way when Doctor Pershing wasn’t looking. It glided smoothly through the legs of other students, flittering about until it found itself perched innocuously on your table.___ _ _ _

______Ink bled through the neatly folded paper, and you picked it up delicately to avoid it staining your hands and leaving a trace behind. Undoing its structure gently, you read the note written in slightly sloppy, disjointed letters._ _ _ _ _ _

_______‘Come to Hogsmeade with me this weekend? –T’ ____ _ _ _ _ _

________Normally, you would go to Hogsmeade with Cara and Fennec, but that was rare. Most weekends you spent either studying or attending to the greenhouses, which was more time consuming than one would think; there were many greenhouses, filled to the brim with plants, and not many students wanted to waste their time taking care of them. But still, maybe it would be nice to go; the four of you could go as a group and visit the Three Broomsticks, which was still selling the summer drinks you loved due to the heat._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Turning the note into a little pile of ash, you watched Toro out of the corner of your eye until he turned to look at you, to which you shot him a smile and a curt nod. His eyes seemed to light up, and you were glad to have made a new friend._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Miraculously, the Draught of Peace came out much better than previous brews. Doctor Pershing even allowed those who made it correctly to take a couple of vials back with them, under the condition that they used it appropriately, the rest being given to the infirmary for proper use. Keeping the turquoise shimmer in a pocket of your bag, you would go about your day without throwing it around as much._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Just before you could leave, the Doctor called you to his desk as other students were filling out. You waved some of your friends from the class on, approaching the Doctor’s desk with apprehension. Apart from the notes you didn’t believe he’d noticed, had you done something wrong?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________All he did was hand you a brown paper wrapped parcel, note tucked neatly into the twine binding it together. His fingers brushed yours as he handed it to you, and you recoiled at the cold._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Please take this to Professor Djarin on you way back, and if he needs more to come find me.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Nodding in understanding, you scurried away, wondering what could be hidden inside the little brown box._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________\---_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Care of magical creatures passed by with a breeze; it was only a theory lesson on the difference between Kelpies and Selkies, which was relatively easy to understand. There was a rumour that a Kelpie lived in one of the lakes surrounding Hogwarts, but no one, not even the professor, knew if it was to be believed. If it was, you hoped people, especially the younger students, knew to stay away; they were notorious for dragging people down into the depths with them._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________There was still quite some time until tea was served around five, which gave the perfect time slot to find Professor Djarin and deliver his parcel. It was very unassuming; light, and without much of a rattle. Could it have been a special potion, carefully wrapped up as to not break in your clumsy hands? It burned a whole in your proverbial pocket, but you knew it was not your place to ask what it was – you could speculate all you want, though he would probably never relinquish the information to you._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________After being at Hogwarts for so many years, you knew the way back to the greenhouses like the back of your hand, and even a few shortcuts through passages hidden behind various paintings and portraits. Being so, it took you no time at all to get back there, the day’s sun still blaring down on top of you. You took your time walking to the greenhouses once leaving the castle’s doors, enjoying the last of the summer while you could; Britain’s weather changed so dramatically, it was hard to trust (even magical) weather reports. Many birds nested nearby - some of them dangerously close to the owlery – and their calls could be heard across he grounds, their babies long flown away._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Not bothering to knock before you entered the greenhouse – being an older herbology student granted certain special access – you were surprised to find Professor Djarin’s desk and main workspace unusually unoccupied. Most of his time was spent in the largest greenhouse, and his absence was felt, the only life other than the plants being the groundskeeper’s cat asleep under a pot of Echinacea, grey ears sticking out of a fluffy cream coat. You left quietly, careful not to disturb the little cat’s blissful nap._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________After not finding him in any of the other greenhouses, there was only one other place he was sure to be, considering it was not yet time to eat; if not, he could be off hunting more trolls with the other teachers that had come too close to the school grounds. Professor Djarin had an office on the second floor, used mostly when it became too cold to work full time in the greenhouses outside of lessons. He greatly disliked it, calling it stuffy with its tiny windows and lack of life. It was quite possible there was something important he had to do in there, like hang baskets of flowers on the walls. That would be the last place you checked before resigning yourself to leaving it on his desk and telling him about it tomorrow, but you craved any chance to see him again before then._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Practically sprinting across the grass, your feet seemed to catch on every pebble as your slightly too small skirt blew in the wind. Luckily, the stairs happened to be in the correct position in order to go directly to the Professor’s office, and you ascended the stone rather quickly, trailing your hand up the banister lightly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The door looked like any other in Hogwarts; grand, but plain and boring all at the same time._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________On the other side, Din palmed his erection over his trousers, head rolling back over the back of his uncomfortable desk chair. His day had been too long, too many classes to teach when he’d been so pent up all day. It was quite frankly unfair how long he’d had to wait before scrambling to his office for a place to hide before another teacher could pull him aside for another long and boring conversation about something he couldn’t quite manage to give a fuck about._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________A low moan bubbled up and escaped his lips, frustration melting away with every brush of his hand. His left hand reached for the buttons of his brown woollen trousers, undoing them deftly. He tugged the zip down with impatience, growling as it stuck half way along, as he continued working his other hand over his aching cock fervently._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Guilt built in his chest, knowing that this was a school, and a magical one at that, and anyone could walk in even after he’d securely turned the lock before flinging himself into his chair. Din felt like a schoolboy again, sporting an erection in the middle of class at the sight of a bra through a girl’s t-shirt, but he couldn’t help it; he could never get enough privacy at this god-forsaken school, never mind someone to help take care of his particular needs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Still, the guilt couldn’t stop him from pulling himself free of his underwear and wrapping his hand around his thick cock, thumb smearing precome over the agitated head to ease the friction a little. A guttural groan filled up the air in the small office, and he had no mind to muffle it. Slowly, he started to move his hand up and down the exposed golden skin, dragging the pleasure out for as long as he could, knowing he only had so much time to enjoy it._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He sighed, eyes fluttering closed as he gripped the column of his throat tightly, veins staining with effort._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘Fuck.’ He whimpered, feeling himself approach his climax embarrassingly quickly; Din thanked the gods he wasn’t with a partner. He ground his teeth as he squeezed lightly around the base of his cock in a vain attempt to prolong his pleasure._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Suddenly, he heard a knock on the door. It was only tentative, but it made him see red. He continued to tug at his sensitive cock, and ignored whoever was on the other side of the door. They would not interrupt such a precious moment after he’d craved and waited all day._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Again, the door was lightly thumped on, but they would just have to wait; he was so blissfully close, eyebrows knotting together and nose scrunching up as he felt his orgasm moments away. Soft pants replaced the groans he’d wanted to express, not oblivious enough to forget the person just outside the door, though they broke off into a strangled gasp as Din’s hips stuttered into his palm, starting to come in ropes across his hand and stomach and staining his pristine, if not a little muddy, shirt._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________And then the door clicked open._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	2. Seeing Stars

Icy water seemed to douse your body, your heart seizing as if physically being restrained from beating by a cruel hand. Little hairs rose along your arms, attempting to trap the warmth your shock had tricked out of your body as your skin paled, flush colours draining from your cheeks like spilled wine. Time moved agonisingly slowly, your hand slipping from the doorknob reducing your remaining balance significantly, knees buckling under the invisible pressure pushing down on your shoulders.

When he said your name, breathlessly and embarrassed, you flinched. 

The reason for entering the distinctly beige room immediately left you wondering, head as empty as the dreary décor. Mouth dry as the Sahara, you bit your bottom lip, probably hard enough to draw blood. Turning on your heels and slamming the door behind you, the humid halls of Hogwarts seeming to warm your skin immediately – that, or the realisation of what you had just witnessed was starting to sink in.

What did you just witness? It was like every fantasy you’d ever had wrapped up with a pretty pink bow on top, but it felt so wrong.

Nobody was supposed to be in that office when you had used that simple, childish spell to pick the lock; what self-respecting wizard would use only the key to lock a door, especially when they were doing that. 

Alohamora.

Professor Djarin’s look of shock did nothing to dull the discomposed carmine of his skin. Guilt and something else more primal sparkled in pools of gold in his eyes as he did nothing but stare at the intruder, and you couldn’t help but do the same: most likely, the image would be burned into the back of your mind forever, and you weren’t sure if you minded or not.

Paintings didn’t have time to scald you for running in the halls, frantic footfalls echoing around you as you made your way to your room, hoping to hide underneath your covers forever and wake up just to find it was a, convincingly real, wet dream; the embarrassment would have been lesser.

However, as you made your way into the Hufflepuff common room, shirt sticking to you uncomfortably from both the heat of the day and the hot feeling welling up inside of you, you realised there was no possible way that you could ever undo this; you could never look at your sweet Professor again without feeling dirty and guilty.

Guilty as you felt, you couldn’t deny the way walking into his office had made you feel. Multiple fantasies filled your head as you gave the password for the dormitories, none of them at all innocent; being bent over the desk was the first one that came to mind, being pushed into the wood by a firm hand at your shoulder blades as Professor Djarin pulled your knickers to the side, before teasing his rough fingers along your soaked pussy and complimenting how eager you were for him - no, that wasn’t something you wanted to think about in public - or at all.

High up on the walls, the common room’s windows filled the space with brilliant sunshine. Usually, the hearth raged with a continuous fire, filling up the cold stone room with warmth; somehow, it knew to turn itself off when the castle was too hot, and you were glad for it. At the feeling of substantially cooler air, the sweat on the back of your neck began to chill, sending a small shiver as sharp as daggers down your spine. 

Walking into your shared room, where someone had drawn all of the curtains in an attempt to keep the room cool, you grabbed a light summer dress from your trunk, and headed into the showers. You fully intending on taking it with only the coldest temperature the water could muster to shock yourself back to into sanity. Most people were still outside enjoying the weather while it lasted, and your room mates were currently nowhere to be found, meaning you could spend longer in the shower than you normally would on a night without them complaining. 

Stripping out of your damp clothes and throwing them in the enchanted laundry basket to be cleaned later, you stepped into the stream of water, it hitting your skin like icicles. Gripping onto the slightly rusty copper pipes, you ducked your head under, gasping at the contrast in temperature. 

As much as you wanted to use the shower as a memory wipe, being alone only made you think about how Professor Djarin sounded as he came, and the way he moaned your name the way you had always wanted him to. 

Heat crept up your cheeks at the memory, no doubt it something you were going to think of on nights when you wanted him the most. Those strong arms, one wrapped seductively around his throat, veins standing out like vines down his soft skin: the other partially hidden by the menace of the old oak desk, but not too much that you didn’t catch a glimpse of your professor’s stiff and leaky cock, spurting come all over his toned abdomen and wrinkled shirt, the hint of a dark tattoo poking out underneath the mess.

Pushing your hair back from your face, your hand trailed down your neck slowly, ghosting along the column of your throat, longing for it to be someone else’s. Eyes fluttering shut, you couldn’t fight yourself any longer.

Leaning more weight against the shower wall, you gently trailed your hand down your chest, grabbing your left breast softly before teasing your nipple with your thumb and forefinger. A light gasp filled the room deafeningly, and you propped your head against the wall, feeling like it was too heavy to lift it up any longer.

Your nipples ached from the cold and arousal you had been feeling ever since you’d left the office, and you squeezed them between your fingers to relieve the tension; though it felt amazing, your mind couldn’t help but wander to a darker place, imagining rough, tanned hands exploring your body in place of your own. 

While one hand explored your breasts, pulling and nipping at them just how you liked it, the other wandered further down, calloused finger pads from years of manual work dragging along your stomach lightly, short and well-groomed nails scratching invisible marks into your skin as if to mark you as his own.

Keening, your knees threatened to buckle as your professor’s thumb ghosted your sensitive clit, his large hand encompassing your cunt with ease. He teased, slowly working his thumb in light, barely there circles, and you stuttered a moan into the tiles on the wall, insides clenching in anticipation.

Suddenly, he increased the pressure tenfold, and you had to bite your lip to stop the release of a loud squeal. Thinking that that was the pace he was going to continue at, you could have cried when he went back to barely touching you, drawing out your excitement for as long as he could, before grinding his thumb back into you.

“You’re so wet for me,” you heard him whisper in your ear, as his middle finger traced your folds expertly. “All this from catching me?”

Shamefully nodding your head, you almost thought you’d heard him smirk as he sank his finger into your pussy agonisingly slowly. The aching in your core had only intensified with the professor’s teasing, and the feeling of even just one of his thick fingers was enough to leave you wobbly.

You wondered how it would feel to be able to have this whenever you wanted; you had fooled around with boys before, but it had never been anything special. Professor Djarin was special, you thought – no doubt he would know far better than you what it was like to have a good time.

Curling his finger with practiced skill, he began drawing it in and out in tandem with the hellish circles he drew on your clit. The sound of panting was beginning to become louder than that of the splashing of the water, but you didn’t really care if anyone could hear anymore; you were frustrated, needing to come badly, and all your professor was doing was making it worse.

“Professor, please.”

“What?” he asked, voice gravelly, slowing down his ministrations. “I don’t know what is that you want.”

You could have cried, missing what friction he was giving you, and you wiggled your ass hoping it would encourage him to carry on.

It had no such effect.

“Please, make me come.” You begged.

With that, your professor resumed, this time inserting two more fingers along with the first; the stretch burned, but it quickly ignited into fiery pleasure as he worked them against the most sensitive parts of your walls. His strokes were becoming more feverous, impatient, pushing you harder and harder to your climax, and his other hand slipped down your body to work at your clit more efficiently than he was already managing. 

Overstimulation and satisfaction fought amongst your senses, and your legs shook from the pleasure, threatening to buckle under you and send you flying to the shower floor.

Pussy clenching around his fingers, you could feel yourself become so close to the edge; he was relentless and vicious, unwilling to stop for anything. You crashed over the cliff as your professor pinched your clit hard, sending a shockwave of the most pleasurable pain throughout your body. It wracked every limb and left you gasping for air, silently crying as he continued to pump his fingers into your drenched pussy.

Slipping down the wall, you became a puddle on the floor, body trembling and weak, and he was gone, only your own hands there to keep you company.

\---

When you finished washing the dirt and the awkward shame off of yourself, you dried off in the fluffiest towel you had, shivering from the long exposure to the cold water. You really had hoped you wouldn’t catch a cold this early into the year, but perhaps from a combination of the germy first years and your own stupidity, it was inevitable.

Pulling the light green dress over your frame, you walked back into your room, glad no one had returned while you had what had to be your most embarrassing masturbation session yet. Deciding you would now need a jumper, as the day’s warmth was doing little to seep into your bones, you reached up and took your favourite knitted one from the high wardrobe and tugged it on over your dress; hopefully, no one would find it too strange considering the sweltering weather that had persevered all day.

Looking at the time, you noticed that it was almost time for tea; deciding to get a head start on your homework afterwards (a three page essay on the difference between kelpies and selkies, and a full report on how to make amortentia for your next potions class), you packed it all up into your bag ready to take to the library once you had finished eating. Seeing the little brown parcel from earlier, curiosity wormed its way up into your brain like a parasite, begging to be opened for one little peek. It would be easy – the string was only loosely tied, and one little pull would remove it completely; you could put it back together like nothing had happened in the first place, and no one would be any the wiser.

Deciding against it, you pushed it further into your bag, determined to drop it off in your class tomorrow and never interact with Professor Djarin again.

Hoisting it over your shoulder, you checked yourself in the mirror, smoothed your damp hair, and walked out into the common room.

“You look like a drowned rat.” Cal quipped from his spot at the desk at the other side of the common room, not really even glancing at you from whatever he was writing.

“Good afternoon to you too, glow-stick. Haven’t seen you all day; better not have been skiving classes again, we’ve been here like what, two days?”

“I would never.” Cal feigned hurt, holding a hand over his heart and finally looking up at you. “I was simply ill.”

“Of course you were.”

You really doubted Cal should be in Hufflepuff sometimes; even though you watched the hat at the sorting ceremony declare him Hufflepuff confidently, from day one there was always something he was up to. With bright red hair, freckles like constellations, and an evil glint in his eyes, you knew he’d be one to stand out. He’d sat next to you at the table that day, introducing himself confidently with a mischievous grin; you returned it, gladly making conversation with him throughout the night, grateful that you finally knew someone from your own house.

No one knew who’d bat-bogey hexed the prefects that night, as everyone got settled into their new homes, but you had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with your new friend.

“What are you doing up here, anyway? I’d have thought you’d still be at the greenhouses.” He asked with genuine concern. You felt bad lying to him, but what were you supposed to say? Caught Professor Djarin having a wank and had to go have a breakdown in my room?

“It was too hot, and I was sweating everywhere. Can’t cope in there any more today, someone else can finish up.”

Cal just hummed, looking back down to what he was writing, before folding it up and shoving the paper and quill into his trouser pocket. How he wasn’t dying from heat after being in his uniform for so long, you didn’t know.

“Best get down for dinner – don’t want Bill eating everything before I can get to it.” He said, walking around the table to you and linking arms, dragging you out of the door and into the busy hallways. Cal had no problem with pushing younger years out of the way, elbowing a couple of the particularly stubborn ones in the ribs on his way past, which cut the normal time it would take you to get to the great hall by half. 

“I’ll see you tonight, yeah?” you asked as he turned to walk over to his own friends at the far right of the hall.

“No, I’m sleeping in Pershing’s office tonight. Of course you will, we have to go over our plan for try-outs.” He replied, squishing your face in-between his palms before leaving you.

Making your way over to your own friends, who had wasted no time waiting for you before starting to eat, you plopped onto the bench next to Cara, who was pointedly ignoring Fennec for the pile of Yorkshire puddings and mash on her plate.

“Where have you been, lover-girl? I always get worried when you spend time with Cal – I haven’t forgiven you two for swapping my shampoo with a hair removal potion.” Fennec asked, warily plating up some beef and potatoes.

“It grew back didn’t it?” you smirked, earning yourself a glare. “I went to have a shower, those greenhouses get ridiculously hot.”

“Are you trying out for quidditch tomorrow?” asked Cara, finally turning to face you. “Fennec said Slytherin have a really good new beater, but I don’t think that’s saying much.”

Stifling a giggle, you nodded, scooping food onto your own plate. You were hungrier than you thought, so your plate ended up piled quite high.

“Yeah, I think me and Cal are the only seventh years apart from the captain trying out, so it’s pretty much guaranteed. Were still going to make the younger years weep with our raw talent, though.”

You and Cal had been a chaser and keeper respectively for three years in a row, and no one seemed to be in a hurry to change that.

Out of habit, your eyes flickered to the teachers table, where you would usually briefly look at Professor Djarin, eating or talking to his fellow teachers, before whipping your head back in embarrassment. 

This time, however, you were frozen on the spot.

Locking eyes with those of deep cocoa, framed by long, dark eyelashes and frown lines, you were pulled in to a staring contest with the last person you wanted to see tonight. You gulped, mind going fuzzy and sweat moistening the palms of your hands; something felt off, like the feeling of anger or rage emanating from the usually sweet and light-hearted herbology professor. A deep set frown made his features seem sharper, darker, more threatening, and he seemed to be biting his tongue in a way one does when wanting to say something they really shouldn’t.

You didn’t think, from the moment you’d met him, you’d ever managed to face him for so long; always looking away in embarrassment with red cheeks, or avoiding his gaze completely, pretending you were focussing on the plants you were tending to. Where his eyes always so dark, or was it just the lighting? Did he always have a scar just above his brow?

He was the first to look away, laughing at something Professor Skywalker had said and continuing their conversation, leaving you to your own thoughts and confusion. 

“-are you coming?”

“Sorry, what?” you asked, snapping out of your thoughts as Cara leaned into you, her plate empty.

“Are you coming to watch the Gryffindor try-outs on Saturday?” she repeated, not having noticed the interaction you weren’t entirely sure just happened.

“Oh! Those are Saturday?” 

Remembering the note Toro had slipped you in class, your mind completely slipped away from thoughts of your professor, now stuck on how you had managed to double-book yourself. As much as you wanted to go and cheer Cara on, you knew she would make the team no matter what, and you felt rude cancelling on someone you had just met.

“I’m sorry, I completely forgot. I said I’d go to Hogsmeade with a friend; I was going to ask if you wanted to come too.”

“You are?” Fennec teased with a smirk, raising her eyebrow at you. “You don’t ever go with us, who is this special person?”

“Oh, just a boy from potions. We bumped into each other today, and I said I’d go.”

“A boy?” she shrieked, a look of disbelief on her face. “Isn’t that cheating on your plant daddy?”

“Her what?” Cara spluttered, creasing with laughter.

“Stop.” You whined, looking towards the professor as if he could hear what they were saying. This time, he wasn’t looking back, but he wasn’t conversing either, just sat looking at his cup with an unreadable expression. “It’s not a date, we’re just friends.”

“Sure it’s not.” Fennec said sceptically, pushing her plate away from her. “We going to the library then? Professor Karga’s class is already giving me hell.”

“Please don’t make me start the essay.” Cara begged, dragging herself up from the bench.

Picking up some oranges out of the fruit bowl for later and tucking them into your bag, you too stood up from the bench, climbing over it, using Cara to support yourself. Even though you could always sneak into the kitchens later if you were hungry, you knew you’d want something while working in the library. 

As you walked down the hall towards the door, you suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious, like someone was staring holes into your back. 

You had no doubt who it was.

\---

Returning to the Hufflepuff dorms later that night, feeling slightly lighter than you had earlier that day, you greeted Cal with a smile. He was sat on a raggedy cream sofa in front of the empty fireplace, tigery hair illuminated like a halo by the melting of the setting sun. He had a book open in his lap that was filled with all sorts of scribbles and drawings; his book of secrets. The pages he was looking at were flight patterns and tactics he was working on for the captain of the quidditch team; it honestly surprised you that Cal wasn’t chosen as captain this year considering the amount of work he put into the team, but he wasn’t bothered by it at all.

“I hope you’re not too tired.” He grinned, patting the cushion next to him on the sofa, inviting you to curl up into to him as you discussed your plans like you had many times before. 

As the try-outs were tomorrow, you had both been trying to get in as much practice as possible, which included late night plotting and plans. Cal went over what he had written in his book, pointing out key weaknesses on the other houses teams, and suggesting the best ways to get around them; the work he had put into the plans must have taken him all summer, you thought, and you made a note to thank him somehow.

By the time he had finished going through them, the sun had almost disappeared from view, replaced by the twinkling of millions of diamonds and the restful gaze of the waning moon. From the windows, you could see the papery wings of a bat flutter by, and the gentle breeze rustling the outline of trees in the distance.

It was just about the right time for Cal’s practice plan, which included sneaking out of the castle just past curfew, and practicing your drills until early morning. When you had first started doing it, your heart would beat as though it were about to explode out of your chest as you crept through the seemingly longer and much more endless hallways out of the castle. Cal would have to coax you out like a spooked animal, promising the reward would be worth the risk. Every noise, inside or out, would have you on edge and ready to bolt at any moment.

Now, you had no problem with slipping out of the safety the castle walls brought you, sometimes even being able to race Cal to the quidditch pitch without worry of being caught. 

Running up to your room, you changed into more suitable, warmer clothes for flying about on a broom in the middle of the night quietly, not wanting to wake your roommates; whilst they wouldn’t snitch on you for being out after curfew, considering how many times you’d helped win matches, they also wouldn’t appreciate being woken up so late.

Cal was waiting for you near the common room door, dressed in his thickest knitted house jumper and holding both of your brooms. Nodding towards the door, a gesture meaning lead the way, you pushed it open gently, checking the hallways were clear, before slipping out.

Frigid air whipped through your hair, the goggles you wore stopping your eyes from weeping stinging tears. You had been testing Cal’s keeper skills and your accuracy for a couple of hours, trying as many trick shots from as many impossible angles as you could. So far, he’d managed to deflect or catch most of them – you weren’t sure who’s skills it was really representing, but for your team’s sake, you hoped it was just Cal outperforming himself that day.

Out in the distance, in a moment of distraction, you could have sworn that you’d seen something glittering on the lake, a shimmery reflection catching your attention from the corner of your eye. You’d never seen it happen before despite spending countless nights out here. It was intriguing, and though you wanted to investigate, you knew it was far too dangerous to wander too far away from the castle during the day, never mind at night. 

Not noticing your head was on another plane of existence, Cal had thrown the quaffle at you, smacking you on the shoulder. It wasn’t enough to knock you from your broom, having endured much worse during matches, though you held on tight to steady yourself. However, that did mean that the ball had fallen out of reach, and someone was going to have to go and get it.

“You dropped it!” Cal shouted from the goalposts, holding up his hands. Knowing he wasn’t going to grab it, you pushed the nose of your broom down, diving towards the grass below you. It rushed up fast, and to anyone else, it may have looked like you were going to tumble into the soft dirt beneath you; expertly, you pulled up just before you hit the ground, plating your feet on the earth safely like you had hundreds of times before.

“Lumos.” You cast, pulling your wand from where it was tucked securely into your boot. A ring of light glowed around you, not too bright as to be seen from the castle, but not enough to see too far in front of you. Dragging your broom along with you, you wandered to the spot where you thought the quaffle had landed, knowing if you didn’t see it, from the ground you could always call it to you.

“Oh, shit.” You whispered, as a figure was dimly lit up I front of you, one hand holding a wand, and the other the quaffle you sought so eagerly.

“Oh shit indeed.” They replied with a hint of mirth. Walking closer to you, their face was revealed by the light of your wand. 

“What’s taking so long?” asked Cal, who’d come to see why you’d suddenly stopped in the middle of the field, worried that something had happened. 

Well, it had.

“Oh no.”

“Enjoying practice I do hope, mister Kestis.” Came that strange, foreign accent you’d become so used to over the years; the accent that made you weak at the knees and stuffed your brain with cotton wool. His lips twitched, and you couldn’t tell if it was genuine amusement or not. “I expect you to win us the cup this year, you know; how about we discuss your tactics inside my office, hm?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm sorry to anyone reading this if chapter updates become irregular, I'm just a poor uni student doing a useless stem subject :') I hope you'll stick with me x


	3. Aching Bones

Din’s head was swimming; no, he was drowning, blissfully falling further and further into the frigid water, vast blue depths pulling him under until he could no longer see the heavenly light of the sun. His lungs were seizing, filled to the brim with brine, and he couldn’t say that he minded. 

It was peaceful, he mused, as he drifted through the water, senses dulled and eyes tired. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing, drowning; he was calm - calmer than he’d been in a while, and nothing seemed like it could drag him out from the infinite abyss. 

Weightless, he let himself be carried away, forgetting all about work, stress, his higher purpose in life. How long had it been since he’d just let go of everything?

It was nice.

Maybe he’d stay here, forever. 

Then, a hand, delicate, unmarred by time and the crushing weight of life plunged through the water. Had he really only been that far from the surface, tricking himself into thinking he was further away from everything? Fingers splayed, it moved about in front of him, unaffected by the drag of the current, and grabbed him by the scruff.

Fuck.

Quickly, he pulled a wad of tissues out of the box on his desk, the scrape of the paper along the cardboard deafeningly loud in his ringing ears. He wasn’t unaccustomed to cleaning himself up with such haste, though it had been a long time since he had needed to do so, wiping at the mess on his stomach and shirt.

He’d have to go change his stained shirt before he joined his fellow scholars for dinner, he thought, tucking himself back into his trousers with nimble fingers before anyone else had the chance to walk in.  
He couldn’t believe how incredibly stupid he’d been. How many times had Din locked the door properly, only for him to forget this one time in his pent up hurry. 

He was foolish and reckless.

If word got out about him exposing himself in front of a student, even if accidental, he could lose his job, and his plans would go to shit. Din couldn’t believe he’d let this happen, and in front of you of all people – his most talented, gifted student – and, if he had to admit it, even his favourite. He knew you, though; quiet, well-mannered, full of admiration for him – there was little chance of you bringing it up to other students. 

His biggest worry, though, was your grandfather; one word to him and he could get rid of Din with the snap of his fingers without anyone else even knowing. All he could hope to do was talk to you, and hope to clear up the misunderstanding before anything could happen.

Riving the old office door open with a steeled expression, confident he looked at least presentable enough to slake up the stairs to his private quarters, he left, locking the door behind him properly. Of course you were long gone; he doubted even he could stick around to do whatever he’d come up there for after seeing something like that.

As grand as the castle was, medieval stone walls towering impossibly high, ancient floors worn smooth with wear, Din had always hated being inside of it. Students filled the halls and staircases, constant bustle making the walls seem to press inwards. It was dark, and it stifled him, and he much preferred the scattering of vast greenhouses and the stretch of the endless castle grounds. 

On the occasion that he could, he would take his time wandering around the forbidden forest with a notebook and pencil, documenting the wide array of all sorts of plants that grew there. Everything from mushrooms, berries and ivies, to poisonous foliage and living tendrils of vines; he hoped one day to be able to study them in a more comfortable, less dangerous setting and see if they would be of any use to his classes, but for now, he kept it harmless hobby. 

Sometimes, he would take a walk to the lake, and inspect that that grew around it. Whatever was in the lake, apart from the aquatic vegetation, was far beyond his own knowledge, and he dare not investigate it too closely.

Knowing the way back to his own quarters was probably the only trip on the staircases he was confident on. Office, library, and other teachers’ classrooms – he knew where they were in the castle, but if he were ever to need to get to them promptly, he wasn’t sure if he could manage.

He much preferred his quarters to his office; the walls were dark pine, with darker curtains to match. He could let in as much or as little light as he wanted, and the big windows opened wide, the opening giving a perfect view of the quidditch grounds below when the weather was clear enough. Shelves were filled with parchment and plant pots, deep green leaves spilling from every corner of the room, his home away from home.

A large bed sat under one of the large windows, probably the only space unoccupied with plants; even his bathroom was filled to the brim with plants that enjoyed the humid air after a shower, dangling from the old rusted pipes and sitting proudly on his sink.

Grabbing another shirt from his chest of drawers (a light, olive material that was reserved for the warmest of days) and throwing it on his bed, he pulled the old one over his head, abdomen tensing and arms stretching in effort, before walking into his bathroom to wipe himself down properly. He wished he’d had time to shower, as the stifling heat had working him into a sweat all day, but he had a meeting to attend before dinner, and he intended to be there promptly.

Putting the new shirt on and combing through his hair lightly, he picked up his bag filled to the brim with parchment, knowing that the papers he needed for the meeting were in there somewhere. Although it was meant as a way for teachers to make sure their classes weren’t clashing and they were teaching the right things, he knew what headmaster Kenobi really wanted to talk about; the Dark Lord.

Even if just rumours, the fact that people were talking about such a thing was enough to cause concern. Ever since he’d disappeared, thought to be dead, no one had dared to mention his self-appointed title, never mind his name. After the devastation he had caused to the wizarding world the last time he had attempted to rule, no one wanted to take any chances.

Leaving his room in the same state of organised disarray he’d found it in, Din wound his way up the ever changing staircases and long hallways, trying his best to memorise the patterns for future reference. Many of the paintings on the way to headmaster Kenobi’s office greeted him cheerily, and though he had little idea as to who they were, he greeted the back with the same enthusiasm. Paintings talked, and he didn’t want them spreading more rumours about the reserved herbology teacher than what were already circulated.

Some of his students who were loitering in the hallways before dinner gave brief hellos, and he nodded to them in acknowledgement. It seemed as though many students were staying within the chilling walls of the castle to avoid the blistering heat, the other half of the population spending as much time on the grounds outside as possible in order to catch the last of the summer sun.

As much as he loved his greenhouses, he had to admit the students inside had the right idea. It was becoming increasingly harder to work in them, and he found himself needing to drink more water than he usually would; he couldn’t imagine how the plants were feeling, trapped inside there all day.

Finding himself successfully outside of the headmaster’s office with a little bit of time left to spare, he checked the halls for students who may be eavesdropping, and stood in the little inconspicuous alcove in the far wall. Upon giving the password, the stairs to headmaster Kenobi’s office appeared out of the floor, carrying him to the top of the tower much like a set of muggle escalators. 

Inside, some teachers were already gathered around his desk, each with varying looks – boredom, worry, unbelief – he couldn’t blame them; as preposterous as the rumours were, it was better to ere on the side of caution. As more filed in, headmaster Kenobi rose from his desk, clasping his hands in front of him loudly to gain everybody’s attention.

“Now, I’m sure you all know why we are gathered, first and foremost,” he commanded, eyes sweeping over the room. For a moment, Din feared as though they would settle on him, and different words would come from the headmaster. “You’ve no doubt heard from me, or someone else, about certain rumours about the Dark Lord. Unfortunately, I fear that these are not mere rumours.”

“Of course they are,” someone said from the other side of the room, though Din couldn’t see across the sea of people to say who it was. “We all know that the Dark Lord is dead, he hasn’t been seen or heard from in nearly a decade and a half.”

“That may very well be true,” the headmaster continued. “But as I’m sure some of you are aware, I spent the summer at the ministry in Paris; while there, I was helping to investigate a string of attacks, and they weren’t just random. They all bore the Dark Lord’s mark.”

Everyone in the room knew which mark the headmaster was referring to; sometimes, it took the form of a rotting apple left at the scene of a murder; sometimes, a card with a red dot with a green line running through it; sometimes, it was scarred into a victims skin.

These mimicked the mark of the Dark Lord’s followers, a small tattoo found anywhere across the body, of an apple with a snake wrapped around it like a vine invading and chocking the life out of a tree.

“I know what you’re thinking, and yes - it could just be an imitator, but the matter of fact is that people are dying, and we have a duty to protect these children. You must not let them know about this until I deem it necessary, and I’ll make sure to update you of any further news. Now, please commence with the meeting as planned.”

\---

Din’s palms were sweating by the time everyone began to file out of the office, the hairs on the back of his neck that had grown too long over the summer sticking to him like a second skin. He was glad for the light shirt, the temperature in the office rising every passing minute until it felt like a sauna. The air outside felt like air conditioning, even though he knew the ancient building had never seen such a thing.

Along with most of the other teachers, Din headed down the never ending stairs to the great hall, glad that he had someone to follow rather than fighting with the staircases again. Though conversation was slightly uneasy after such a meeting, he was glad to be able to talk freely to some of the teachers he considered his friends, joking with them as they went to get dinner.

The great hall was already quite full by the time his group arrived, with only a couple of teachers that hadn’t attended the meeting in order to supervise the children sat at the long table at the front. He recognised one as the groundskeeper, a large man covered in facial hair he would occasionally see around the castle doing odd jobs; the other was the care of magical creatures professor and the head of Hufflepuff, Kuiil, who he thought himself to be good friends with.

Choosing to sit next to Kuiil and to see if he needed filling in on the meeting, Din walked around the table and took his seat, greeting the older man fondly. He pilled vegetables and meat onto his plate as he chatted away with the old man; as it turned out, he had been informed by the headmaster of the situation when he was asked to supervise dinner, and therefore knew all about what had gone on.

Gazing upon the hall, which was now almost filled to the brim, Din spotted some familiar students; they were your friends, he recognised, as they would often come and meet you after you’d had classes with him. It was strange that you weren’t with them, he thought, as you three always seemed to be joined at the hip and sat together at the Gryffindor table every mealtime.

Were you okay? He really hoped you were; he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if something had happened to you because of him.

Din was fond of you, and he had no problem admitting that. Many teachers had students they were fond of, he rationalised, and it was just a normal part of teaching. You always went out of your way to help; offering to do extra days in the greenhouses when other students where off spending time in Hogsmeade, checking his stock and reminding him about things he was running low on, bringing him a cup of tea and a sandwich when you could after he’d lost track of time and forgotten to attend lunch. 

You’d even leave out a bowl of water in the main greenhouse for the groundskeeper’s cat that always lurked around the buildings.

So yes, he could confidently say you were his favourite student.

And yes, he was worried that you weren’t already in the hall.

Picking at his fingernails under the table, occasionally moving to force his uneasy stomach to eat, he sat with his body angled to the old professor, while his eyes watched the doors closely.

When you walked in, it was a relief, and Din visibly relaxed upon your arrival. Whatever Kuiil had been saying was forgotten to him, words flowing in one ear and out of the other like a breeze. 

He wasn’t sure why he was so affected by you; it was probably just his worry subsiding, glad you were okay after what he had done to you. However, something in the back of his mind was more nagging, begging to come to the forefront of his mind and cause trouble for the two of you.

Wearing a green dress not to dissimilar in colour to his shirt and a woolly jumper, Din wondered what on earth had possessed you to do such a thing; the thought of having another layer over his shirt made sweat run in rivers down his spine. Eyes wandering down, he noticed the lack of the long socks you’d usually wear with your uniform’s skirt, and the amount of time he spent mulling over that concerned him, finding he found the sight nicer than he should. 

Forcing himself to drag his eyes back up, he noticed you were lingering in the doorway instead of joining your friends.

For some reason, the sight of Cal Kestis’ arm around yours made him uneasy – he knew you had been friends with him for a long time, but he’d never much thought about it – what you saw in such a troublesome person he couldn’t comprehend. Din knew by your demeanour that you were comfortable around him; it was the complete opposite of how you acted when Din was close by, closed off and nervous, a deer stunned by headlights. You were smiling, brighter than the shy ones you gave him in the greenhouses, politely reacting to the jokes he made, and something ate away at his insides upon seeing the difference.

As the boy started to walk off, Din felt the aching feeling within him die down; he felt it burst through him once Cal turned back and squeezed your face between his hands with a laugh, face only millimetres away. It was unreasonable, and he didn’t completely understand it; who you were friends with was none of his business, anyway.

Din had to rip himself away from watching you as you walked down the hall to sit with the friends he’d noticed you were missing from, turning to join in with the conversation the teachers at his side were having. His face was set in a hard line, and he knew to some it must’ve looked like he was scowling at them, plotting their death; it wasn’t them he was angry at.

Why was he finding it so hard to stop himself from looking at you?

He’d never noticed himself to be so interested in your life, but even as he conversed with his peers, he couldn’t stop himself from watching as you talked to your friends, so oblivious to the things that were happening around you, to the things people thought of you. He supposed everyone was, really, and he was just overthinking things after the recent news. 

Still, he felt some strange, overwhelming feeling of a need to protect you, and specifically you; but was it out of fear for his own wellbeing, or something else entierly?

He didn’t have much time to contemplate that thought, as a pair of eyes met his from across the hall. Din’s breath caught in his throat, but he couldn’t look away. Unwavering, you continued to stare back, eyes not moving from his, and he wondered where the sudden boldness in you had come from. 

Although he could still see in your eyes the slight glint of apprehension you had always had when speaking to him, something else was shining through. He was of no doubt that it was because of him - how couldn’t it be after what he’d let you see not so long ago – but what he saw, he couldn’t discern the true meaning of.

He wanted to say something; needed to say something, but what was he supposed to convey from across the hall in front of hundreds of people? 

Instead of thinking about it, he resigned himself to wait until it was just the two of you.

Noticing the people around him were laughing, he joined in, tearing himself away from the lure of your gaze. It was hard, he found, the odd feeling of your stare doing something to change his DNA and keep him locked on you – what other reason could he give to explain your magnetism?

Only when he noticed you and your friends stand to leave, did he allow himself to look back and breathe.

\---

It was late, and Din’s eyes were growing heavy. 

Sun having long ago set, he existed in only pale candlelight and the eerie glow of the moon through the open window. Glad it wasn’t chilly, he’d opened it the full way, letting in as much light as the half-moon would allow. There was little sound to distract him; students had long gone to bed, curfew having been a couple of hours ago, and so only the noise of nightlife was there to accompany him.

In his room, he sat going over his plans for the next day; writing his supply list, taking earmuffs out of storage, repotting the evening primroses – you . He wasn’t exactly sure what he was supposed to say, though. Apologise? Beg for forgiveness and to keep it a secret just between them? Did he try to bribe you?

Whatever it was to be, he just hoped you could at least forgive him, even if it meant his downfall.

Maybe he should go to bed, he thought, closing his notebook carefully as to not smudge the pages. The weathered pages crinkled, and it didn’t close all the way because of all of the extra things stuck in it that he’d found on his adventures to the forest.

Standing from his desk chair, made from intricately carved wood and a soft velvet seat (and arguably a lot more comfortable than the one in his office), Din’s back popped, and he stretched his arms above his head as he looked out of the window. 

He would have to close it before he slept; the threat of stray pixies wandering in through it was more likely than it sounded, and he didn’t particularly fancy cleaning up the mess that would be left in its wake. Walking up to it, he noticed below what at first seemed to be birds flying around the quidditch field, and almost thought nothing of it.

At first, he noticed the semi-regular flight pattern and how they were only staying around one end of the pitch – maybe they were hunting something, but it was too dark to tell. Too tired to care, he was about to shut the window and crawl into bed, preferably to never wake up, when he caught a flash of red hair and a yellow jumper illuminated in the moonlight: he was pretty sure he knew who that was, and he wasn’t happy at the fact.

“Fucking kids,” he muttered, pulling on his boots and lacing them up with indignation. Noticing a few scuffs, he thought he should polish them, but resigned the thought knowing how quickly it would happen again.

Din’s thick coat was hanging on a hook next to the door; he hadn’t needed to use it in quite a while, but he could see the beginning of frost on his window panes, and was unwilling to risk freezing to death before he could reprimand that irritating redhead. Pulling it on, he pocketed his wand that was resting on his bedside table, and opened his door with a huff.

It was much harder getting around the castle in the dark.

No daring to cast the lumos charm knowing the irritability of the portraits, he crept down the stairs and hallways feeling like he was just another student sneaking out. It took him almost twice the time it should’ve to get to the castle doors, and he worried that the students breaking curfew would’ve left by the time he got there.

Under his boots, the grass crunched, and he was glad he’d pulled his coat over the clothes he’d changed into; the cotton t-shirt and joggers wouldn’t have held up in the drop in temperature alone, and it only made his resentment for the students bloom.

Trudging onto the pitch, he could just about make out the two students flying above him. They were passing the quaffle between themselves expertly, and it was then Din fully registered who he was looking at. He couldn’t believe you of all people would be the type to break curfew, but you looked so comfortable being outside in the dark he knew it couldn’t have been your first escapade – and of course, you were accompanied by Cal – an amazing quidditch player, and an even bigger nuisance, no doubt the bad influence.

He had to admit you were good, though; you moved about gracefully and quickly, throwing the ball back and forth like it was nothing. It was something he could never get his head round, though he attended matches, particularly finding himself looking for you when it was Hufflepuff match days.

Din was about to call you down, already sick of the interaction that hadn’t even started, when the quaffle struck you in the shoulder. At first, he panicked, ready to cast a spell to catch you when you inevitably fell from your broom and put yourself in mortal danger. You didn’t fall, though, instead remaining steady on the broom, letting the quaffle fall to the ground. 

Rolling into his ankles with a little ‘thunk’, he picked the quaffle up off the floor. Din couldn’t recall having ever held one, and it was bigger than he’d expected; he had half a mind to ask if he could join in, but then remembered the time and how annoyed he was.

Suddenly, he noticed you make a nosedive to the ground, and he struggled to tell if it was controlled or not – he really wasn’t in the mood for making a trip to the hospital wing – and was glad it was when you straightened out last minute.

A small light lit up on the field, and he assumed you’d come for the ball rather than having spotted him. It sat securely in his arms, though, and you would have to come to him if you wanted it back. Knowing you had yet to see him, he watched you wander across the field, finally coming to a stop in front of him.

“Oh shit,” Din heard you whisper, your face falling as the lumos charm you had cast went out, bringing the world back into relative darkness. He felt like laughing at how odd the words sounded coming from your mouth; he had never heard you talk so casually, and found he quite liked the change.

“Oh shit indeed.” Din replied, stepping closer to you. When you flinched at his advance, he felt himself soften only a little bit, still mad, but still guilty.

Next to you, Cal landed with a thump, clearly not having noticed that Din was standing just metres from him. He was panting, but even in the dark Din could tell he was smiling, waiting for you to get the quaffle and come and join him back by the goal posts.

“What’s taking so long?” the Hufflepuff asked, laying his hand on your shoulder to see if something was wrong, irking the older man. Din noticed you gesture your hand towards him, and only then did Cal notice him standing right there. “Oh no.”

“Enjoying practice I do hope, mister Kestis.” Din said with a smirk upon seeing how uncomfortable Cal was. He knew that he had a reputation of being quite a soft teacher, one that wasn’t too hard on students causing a little bit of trouble every now and then; most of the time he was glad for it, wanting his students to be comfortable around him. However, for some reason he was glad Cal found him intimidating.

“I expect you to win us the cup this year, you know,” Din continued, speaking casually. Your eyes widened at this, and he wondered if it was because of his odd change in manner than what you were used to; he was always gentle around you, wanting you more than others to like him, trust him - but not at that moment. “How about we discuss your tactics in my office, hm?”

With a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, Din turned and began walking off, knowing that the students would catch up with him and follow (at least, he hoped they would). 

“It’s quite cold out here.” Din conversed as they walked, finding the silence of the pair who were usually quite chatty to be unsettling. “I don’t know who you do it; it must be a lot colder up there.”

“Not really,” Cal said quietly, unsure as to whether he was actually supposed to be answering.

You looked at Cal with a quizzical expression, as if to ask ‘What do we do now genius?’: he just shrugged his shoulders sheepishly, silently praying that they wouldn’t be banned from try-outs.

The pair followed Din up the stairs and into his office without saying anything else, lugging their brooms with them. Along the way, the clattering of the wood on the stairs woke some of the portraits up, causing them to grumble drowsily. At this point, Din didn’t really care; he wanted to go to bed and not have to look at your wide eyed and gloomy expression anymore.

Opening the door and gesturing them in, he closed the door behind himself and plopped onto his chair while the pair stood at the other side of his desk. Throat dry, he tried not to remember too far back into the day, failing miserably.

Embarrassingly, his cheeks began to grow warm, and he tried to convince himself it was the change in temperature.

“I don’t want to stop you from playing quidditch,” Din started, looking at the students in the shadows of the office. They were sheepish, not daring to look him in the eyes. “But you have to understand we have a curfew for a reason; what are we supposed to do if something happens to you out there and there’s no one around to help?”

“We normally book the pitch,” you squeaked, eyes downcast. You couldn’t look at him, not in here; not when he sat at that desk so casually, obviously tired and sick of your shit. You’d never seen him at such a time before, and his change in appearance made you feel sort of fuzzy. Informal clothes looked good on him – made him look younger, more relaxed, even though at that moment he didn’t seem so. “We wanted some last minute practice, we’re sorry.”

If looks could kill, Din would probably be in a coma. Not because you were glaring, but because of the way your eyes glistened ever so slightly with tears, and he suspected you had rarely ever been in such trouble before (Cal was a different story, apparently unaffected by the prospect of a mere detention). 

“It’s alright,” Din said, feeling bad that he’d managed to upset you even more that day. “I’m not going to dock house points – it’ll probably put Hufflepuff in the negative, which would quite frankly be awkward on my part. Both of you will meet me for detention after dinner tomorrow at the main greenhouse; I’ll deal with you then. 

“Now, please, go to bed – you’re going to need it if you’re going to make the team this year.”

Watching you walk out with Cal’s arm around your shoulder, Din didn’t have the capacity to feel what he was starting to suspect was jealousy. Deciding to leave that internal conflict for when he was more lucid, he lay his head on the desk, just closing his eyes for a few minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh I don't know about this chapter but I can't look at it anymore haha. There will be more action rather than internal conflict in the next chapters, promise.


	4. You Get What You Give

Sunlight streamed through the open windows invasively, burning your eyes in an attempt to wake you up from your restless slumber. You had half the mind to hex whoever had opened the curtains, though the breeze that entered through them was undeniably pleasant. 

With bones that were still tired despite having slept, you peeled the covers off of yourself, noticing that you were still in the same jumper and quidditch trousers you’d worn to practice last night. How you’d managed to fall to sleep in them at all you didn’t know, especially after such an adrenaline fuelled day.

Gods, you could only describe the night as a fever dream, unwilling to acknowledge that any of it had happened at all. You really wished it hadn’t happened; the whole day, in fact. If you could erase what had happened, you gladly would have.

How on earth you had found yourself back in that office so soon after fleeing it you couldn’t comprehend. 

As soon as you got back to the common room, Cal had patted your back apologetically before bidding you a goodnight, stalking off into his room like nothing at all had happened. You supposed it was just a normal occurrence for him, considering the amount of things he’d done to land himself in detention that were far worse than sneaking out past curfew.

On the other hand, your eyes stung with tears even though rationally, they should not. How where you supposed to help it after such a day? Your professor’s vision of you had been tainted by a silly act, and you didn’t think you could ever look at him the same again for more than that reason.

Stars swirled in the corners of your eyes as you stared at the blank ceiling, the shadows of cobwebs painting abstract pictures across their canvas with the sun as their medium. If only you didn’t have so many responsibilities, you would’ve gladly stayed in bed in such a state all day; it was far easier than facing whatever was to be thrown at you that day.

Growling angrily, your stomach reminded you that maybe you should, after all, get out of bed. If there was one thing that could deter you from a day of bunking your classes and only rising from your sheets to play quidditch, it was the pangs of hunger that were sure to annoy you all day.

Slipping off the mattress, you noticed everyone had already vacated your shared bedroom, and with a quick glance to the clock you noticed breakfast was almost over already. Unwilling to have to wait all the way until lunch, and needing your strength for the try-outs later, you quickly pulled on your uniform, slipping your tie into your skirt pocket with intentions of doing it up once you weren’t concentrating on not falling down the ever-changing staircases.

The halls of the castle felt a lot cooler than they had the day before, but they were sure to get hotter as the sun grew higher and higher in the sky. Playing quidditch in these conditions would be just as bad as playing in thick snow, the sweat that would drip from your brow would blur your vision and steam your goggles, and damp palms would struggle to grip onto the wooden handle of the broom even with the added help of gloves. Never the less, you had performed marvellously in much worse, and you had no doubt the match would be in your favour as it always had been.

As you dashed through the doors of the great hall, force of habit made you glance up to the teacher’s table at the front of the hall, hoping or dreading to catch a glimpse of brown eyes and tousled hair. Instead, the table was devoid of the man who had such distinct features, and you met the kindly eyes of our grandfather, crinkled at the edges where he smiled at you with a wave that said ‘Good Morning my Dear’. 

Of course, you waved in return, mentally promising that you would visit him soon (the beginning of the new year always had you swamped with work, and he understood), before slipping onto the Gryffindor table alongside your friends who had already finished their breakfasts, and had been finishing up pieces of homework that they hadn’t completed in the library last night.

Cara mumbled something inaudible from across the table that you assumed was supposed to be a greeting; she never had been one for mornings unless it was a match day, and even then it was still hard to drag her out of bed before lunchtime. From next to her, Fennec smiled grimly from her place above an essay, frantically scribbling on the parchment with an elegant feather quill made up of deep autumn colours.

“I know you just got up, but because you love me,” she started with pleading eyes, directing her begging towards you. “I think you should let me copy your potions essay – just the conclusion, of course; I don’t want Pershing catching me cheating. Pretty please?”

Not in the mood to argue so early that she should be doing the work herself, long before the date it was due in, you just gave her a curt nod, slamming your bag onto the table.

“It’s in here somewhere.” You reassured her, rooting around in your schoolbag. It had become cluttered with various pieces of parchment that you hadn’t bothered to organise, along with the heavier things such as your quill and inkpot that had fallen to the bottom, trapping more paper underneath them. Deciding against pulling each piece out individually and shoving them back in just as chaotically, you tipped the contents of you bag onto the currently empty table, putting out your arm to stop anything from falling off.

Picking up a piece of toast with one hand, you began sifting through the papers with the other, stacking them neatly as you went along. Ultimately, the essay Fennec had requested was near the bottom of the pile, and as you pulled it out, you looked up to see her inspecting something that had fallen out onto the table.

“What’s this?” she asked, holding the dainty brown parcel in her palm, her other outstretched to take the parchment she wanted off you. Dropping the paper onto the table in front of her, she began to pull at the string that was all but falling off of the wrapping paper now, the fine twine fraying at the ends and threatening to undo itself altogether. “A present from your new friend, perhaps?”

“Fennec, don’t – it’s not mine!” you began to plead, not knowing if you would even want to know what was inside, despite the burning curiosity the parcel had brought. 

Still, she pulled on the twine with very little effort, and it lightly fluttered to the table. Before you could fathom to stop her, she had already pulled open the paper, revealing a tiny cardboard box. From inside, she plucked an even smaller vile, pumpkin shaped and a glittering purple in colour.

“Dreamless sleep.” 

Both you and Fennec tuned to Cara, who had become far more invested in the mystery parcel than her last ditch attempt to get in some more sleep before her first class. She was looking at the potion with heavy eyelids, though her eyes danced with ideas.

“Try closing your eyes for a bit longer, we’ve still got ten minutes before the next class.” Fennec offered, not registering what exactly Cara had meant with her brief comment.

“No, it’s a potion for dreamless sleep. Where did you get it from? Usually only the nurse has some, and she won’t give anybody that much at once.” Cara explained, eyeing you with inquisition.

“I was asked to give it to Professor Djarin yesterday, but things happened and I didn’t get the chance.” You blushed, snatching the bottle back from Fennec, and neatly putting the parcel back together as if nothing had ever happened.

“Oh, why? You spend all day with him.” Fennec wondered, and you feared you’d begin choking on air before admitting what you had seen.

“It’s too long of a story. But I have detention after quidditch practice, so I can’t come out after it’s over; I’m sorry.”

“Hell, what did you do for that to happen? Don’t answer that, I’m just going to assume it’s Cal’s fault again.” She finished quickly, turning back towards her chicken scratch essay. “Thank you for this – can I give you it back at lunch? You don’t have potions this morning, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Packing everything back away in your bag, you made sure your essay for Care of Magical Creatures was at the very top so you wouldn’t have to mess up the bag’s content again when you went to hand it in. The parcel sat inconspicuously at the side by your pot of ink, ready to be tossed at Professor Djarin before you ran off, never to speak to him again.

“I’ll see you at lunch, then; it’s going to take me a while to get to magical creatures if I leave with everyone else.”

Your friends bid you quiet farewells, returning to their work hurriedly, hoping to get some finished before their classes began. Picking up another slice of toast to eat on the walk to your own lesson, you found yourself feeling as though something was missing.

\---

It had been twenty minutes.

Your care of magical creatures class had passed like a breeze; you handed your essay in just before the lesson had begun, tossing it on the pile on top of Professor Kuiil’s desk, before joining you group at the edge of the forbidden forest.

Instructed to look into the dense foliage, you were to draw (if you ever saw one, that is) a Wolpertinger. You’d already read the textbook, and no one was going to see one – it was easy enough to draw a mish-mash of animals and come up with something vaguely similar, which was then praised the old Professor, even though he probably knew it was made from pure imagination.

Glad your two morning classes were ones that were outside, it hardly took any time to reach the greenhouses for herbology. Your hands were shaking, though you didn’t want to act strange in front of the other students in your class. Why should you be nervous, when you practically lived in these glass walls, and could do nothing wrong in the eyes of the sweet herbology teacher?

Taking a seat on one of the stools in the greenhouse, you took note of Professor Djarin’s empty desk; it was odd that he wasn’t already here, when he usually appeared at the crack of dawn to water the plants before it got so hot that the liquid would scorch the delicate leaves and ruin perfect flowers. Still, you knew like all people sometimes he had other responsibilities, other needs that he had to take care of away from the prying eyes of others.

Scolding yourself for thinking about such things, you focused on thing around the room that had to be sorted once you had some free time. The storage cupboard needed refilling; the caretaker’s cat’s water bowl had emptied, and needed filling and placing outside; the mandrake roots had thrown soil all over the floor when the second years had tried caring for them that morning, and it needed sweeping up.

By the time you’d finished looking around the room and making a list, and then begun daydreaming to pass the time until your Professor arrived, the class had disappeared. Realising it had been twenty minutes since the class was supposed to start, you could understand why – the temperature in the greenhouse was beyond bearable for someone who was only in her a couple of hours a week, and was becoming so for you, too. Why should the class have to suffer in there when it was clear that (as it sometimes happened if there were trolls roaming the school, or some poor child had been mercilessly attacked by an unseen creature) their teacher had been pulled away to some more important, probably lifesaving task?

Rolling up your sleeves and unbuttoning the top couple of buttons on your shirt, having forgone your tie until now, you pottered around the greenhouse; you may as well have a head start and the things you would have to do the next time you were here, you thought, organising the remaining jars in the tall cabinet in the corner. You thought back to when your Professor had brushed against you only the day before, and your neck flushed as your mind began to spiral, thinking of much darker things than it should in the middle of the day.

Next to you, the soil hugging a juvenile tea tree plant was as dry as bone; it was odd, and upon checking the rest of the plants in the greenhouse, you discovered most were in the same state. As they were normally religiously watered every morning, you grew with concern. Professor Djarin always took to watering them in the morning, and you had never once seen him leave them like this – he couldn’t just be late to your class - he hadn’t turned up all day.

Dread settled in your stomach like an anchor hitting the sea floor: of all of the awful accidents, occurrences and wars that had happened in this school, nothing caused you fear like the endangerment of those you loved, even if only secretly and fleetingly. It was times like this you wished you could make calls on school grounds instead of having to track down a figure of authority on foot; the size of the grand old castle and ever-changing staircases and halls would make it far too hard to track down your grandfather in a timely manner, which could only make whatever horrible fate your Professor had met worse.

Heart beating quicker than you thought possible, you span to face the door to room, the determination to do something burning a hole through your chest.

“Crap. Where is everyone?” 

“Professor?”

Through the glass, the light of the sun was too harsh on your eyes to be able to see anything without squinting. He was hard to make out, but without a doubt, it was indeed your Professor looking unscathed, if not more scruffy than normal.

A sigh of relief flooded your lungs when you realised you had been over reacting, as justified as it was. It didn’t last long, though – you could tell something was off about him without having to ask, whether it was the way he carried himself or the way he spoke uncharacteristically.

Maybe you should’ve left along with everyone else.

As he walked further into the greenhouse, his figure became clearer, and you realised he looked just the same as he did last night. Same snug black t-shirt that had been mostly hidden by his overcoat when he had caught you playing quidditch past dark, now revealing tan, muscled forearms and biceps; the same grey joggers that hung dangerously low on his hips, making you wonder if he was even allowed to be seen like this (what your grandfather would have to think about his students ogling their professors you didn’t know). Professor Djarin’s hair stuck up in every direction, and there were little lines pressed into his cheek from where it looked like he’d slept on his coat.

“I fell asleep in my office thanks to a certain two students.” He lambasted, briskly walking to his desk and pulling out a stack of papers from the top drawer. Scowling at them, he dropped them onto the wood with a smack, and sank into his chair, thighs spread and arms resting on them languidly. “My office doesn’t have an alarm clock, and now I’ve missed two classes. Two! Do you know who covered for my second years? It looks like something exploded in here, and I don’t know how much paperwork I’ll have to fill in if one of those little fuckers didn’t wear earmuffs.”

Professor Djarin’s tone scared you; not once had he ever been anything but polite to you, never raising his voice or directing any annoyance towards you. Everyone knew him as one of the kindest, most mild-mannered teachers at Hogwarts. Now, he may as well have been berating you at the top of his lungs with the way he conveyed his displeasure; still, you couldn’t deny that seeing him angry was exciting in some sick way, and forced you to clench your thighs together with ardour.

“I don’t know,” you stuttered, turning to face him sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”

Running his hands up and down the tops of his legs, you couldn’t help but be drawn to the movement. Teachers were rarely ever seen in anything but their proper attire, and you could understand why; how were students ever supposed to get anything done if their teachers looked as good as your Professor did now? Balling his hands into fists, the veins in his arms stood out along his bronze skin like gold paint – he sighed.

“No, I should apologise – for a lot of things. That’s not your fault; I shouldn’t have raised my voice.” 

Nervously, as though paranoid someone were to see him (despite the absence of privacy the greenhouses gave), he looked around, tongue touching the top of his teeth as if to stop him from blurting something out something he shouldn’t.

“And about what you saw last night: I can’t apologise for that enough.”

You could tell that your cheeks had flushed as red as the anthuriums that grew proudly nearby, as the heat crept up your face like vines reaching for light. You hadn’t thought this far, hadn’t come up with what you were supposed to say if it was ever brought up – Hell; you had planned on never talking to the man again. 

What were you supposed to say?

‘I am now traumatised and will need years of counselling’ or ‘I actually enjoyed it’?

Professor Djarin sucked in a breath, and ice filled your veins. Maybe you’d thought about that second option too loudly, too freely, your inner desires forcing you to let them be known. You could barely meet his eyes – not that you wanted to, but something was drawing you to them like the pull of a magnet. They were blown wide, deep pools of black that consumed all of the light cascading down on you both.

“You did?” he coughed, shocked. It was far from the most professional thing he could have said, but at that point he didn’t think he could convey anything else. In the back of his mind, he was scolding himself for saying such a thing to a student; he could lose more than just his job by entertaining your mumbled confession. If so, why was he finding it so hard to think about anything but what you had said?

“What? No, I mean-”

What did you mean? What on earth were you supposed to say in response to your thoughtless bumbling? You very well couldn’t confess your love and embarrass yourself further, as there was no way a teacher would ever reciprocate the feelings of a student, never mind one as gauche and as socially inept as yourself.

“I didn’t mean anything by that, I’m so sorry.”

“That’s good, then.” Professor Djarin said, sounding shell-shocked but notably disappointed. “I think we should just forget this whole thing happened at all, yes? I won’t say anything if you don’t.”

“Yes, of course.”

“That’s alright, then.” Pausing, he looked you up and down before settling on the exposed skin of your neck and chest. You swallowed, unsure of what you were supposed to say now, ready to blurt out anything if it meant that you could leave. “Where is your tie? You shouldn’t be walking around like that, you know, even if it is hot.”

Subconsciously, your fingers flew to your neck, covering where your shirt didn’t; it reminded you of the way you had caught the very professor in front of you, off-guard and lost in waves of pleasure you had rudely interrupted.

“You’re one to talk,” you said absentmindedly before you could think about it, off-handedly commenting on his own current attire. You pulled your tie from your skirt pocket with your other hand, intending to put it on there. Your Professor visibly tensed, shoulders squaring and jaw clenching in his seat, and you immediately began to regret the quip which wouldn’t have been out of place if directed to anyone else but him.

“Come here.” Professor Djarin commanded voice low and gravelly. 

You wanted to look anywhere but him, as though it would pull you out of the trance you were in and let you run far away. Something about him was drawing your further and further in, spellbound. His eyes were hard set, a frown crossing his brow, and lips downturned. 

You didn’t want to go to him; something about him was darker, and he was uncharted territory you were unsure was safe to explore. Without receiving orders, your feet had a mind of their own as they walked you over to him, planting you right between his open thighs.

Rising from his chair only centimetres away from you, breathe ghosting over your neck and face impossibly hotter than the air in the room, he took the tie from your hand without any resistance from you. This close, the man towered over you, and he was closer to you than he had ever been before. It was an odd dynamic, and had you feeling so powerless even though there was nothing to stop you from running away with your tail between your legs.

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t pull away from his gaze, even as his strong arms slid around your neck agonisingly slowly, dragging your tie around with them. 

You wondered if he was going to kiss you; you wished he would.

Delicately brushing your hair aside, he tucked the middle of the tie under your collar, and brought the rest around to hang in the middle of you both. Broad palms grazed your collarbones and the tops of your breasts, short fingernails lightly scratching the skin bore to him. It was like he had run a marathon; Professor Djarin’s breath was coming out in quick, short pants against the top of your head where his had come to rest. His heart was beating so loudly someone outside could’ve heard it clear as day – or was that your own? – and he had closed his eyes as though he was faint.

As though out of nowhere, he snapped back to reality. Pulling back only slightly to see you, he did up the tie in his hands with little effort, quicker than you could have done yourself even after so many years of wearing it. The way his fingers moved so deftly was captivating, drawing you to watch them instead of staring wide-eyes at his face. Hypothesis disproven, you were still pinned to the spot under him, unable to move even if you had wanted to. 

You wondered if he was going to do up your shirt’s buttons before tightening the thin strip of fabric, but he did not. Instead, he yanked it as tight as it would go around your delicate throat.

A little gasp of air escaped your mouth when you felt your air being cut off ever so slightly – it was still easy enough to breathe, though the shock of your Professor’s actions had winded you. While one hand held the tie tight and in place, Professor Djarin languidly closed the other around where the tie had wrapped around your neck, squeezing lightly.

“Maybe I should add something else to your punishment later.” He snarled into your ear before pulling back to look you in the eyes. Looking out from under your lashes, you couldn’t find a hint of the professor you thought you knew. “Since you’ve wanted to act like a brat lately, maybe someone should treat you as such.”

Whining quietly, you rubbed your thighs together where you stood, craving any sort of friction to dull the ache between your legs; it only served to make you aware of just how wet your knickers had become during your manhandling.

“What do you think, hm?” he asked, noticing your squirming. Inside the deep recesses of his mind, despite the voices screaming at him to stop, he found himself more than satisfied with your reaction to his actions.

You were too stunned to talk, your brain having turned to mush, and instead, whimpered something incomprehensible in place of a proper answer. Apparently this was not what the Professor had wanted, tightening his grip on you in a warning.

“Use your words, yeah? That’s not too much for you is it?”

“Whatever you see fit, Professor.”

“Better.” He said gruffly, releasing his grip on you altogether. 

As you stumbled backwards from him, too shaky to hold yourself upright in the absence of his support, you noticed his demeanour change instantly, so quick that if you had blinked you would have missed it. No longer were his eyes cold and blank, but back to their normal, coffee coloured hue, and filled with worry. He rushed forward to stop you from falling, spinning the both of you around so that you could sit at his desk chair.

You chose to ignore what a perfect height you were now sat at, instead sitting silently as your Professor bent over and cautiously fixed your collar and tie, looking somewhat like a scolded puppy. Once he had stood back up, he cleared his throat and wrung his hands together, unwilling to meet your gaze.

“I’ll see you and Cal here at eight o’clock, sharp. Don’t come looking like - like that… Dress warmly, is what I mean.”

With that, he stormed out of the greenhouse, leaving you to contemplate what had just happened in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter took so long! I've been absolutely swamped in exams and schoolwork, but I want to thank everyone for the sweet comments - they really give me motivation to write this. Hopefully I can upload the next few chapters quickly :)  
> PS. At some point I'm going to go back and edit some chapters after noticing mistakes, but this wont change anything to do with the story.  
> PSS. I have a choking kink I know.


	5. The Wolf and The Rabbit

Through the green, algae stained window panes, you watched as a younger year all but fled from the small paddocks where Professor Kuiil taught most of his classes. 

It must be time for lunch, you thought, noticing the empty feeling in your stomach; it would explain why everyone was leaving their classes and scattering across the grounds.

From a distance, it was hard to gauge their reactions to the class; whilst it was something that came all but naturally to you, and was something you found much enjoyment in, you knew not all others held it in such high regard. It could be a difficult class for those who weren’t as engaged in such a different style of teaching, and many people ended up dropping it once they could.

Though you wanted to communicate to your limbs that you, too, wanted to leave the place currently holding you hostage, the message wasn’t being received. Feeling heavy, as though lead filled your veins instead of the blood that currently burned through them, they refused to move from the spot that he had left you in not so long ago, as though you had simply melted into the chair.

Starting with wiggling your toes, to test if you could actually still move or had been completely paralysed by your interaction with your Professor, you worked your way up to moving the rest of your body slowly. It was difficult, and some bones popped and creaked as you stood from the chair, legs wobbling like a baby deer. 

You moved tentatively, still unsure as to whether you would just collapse as soon as you lifted a foot from the floor. Once you had slowly made your way over to your bag that was close to the door of the greenhouse, you decided it would be safe to make your way across the lawns and into the castle instead of wallowing in the state you had let yourself stay in so far.

The Great Hall was devoid of your friends when you arrived. You knew you had arrived later than you normally would have, what with your jelly-like legs and bones that felt like you’d fallen off of your broom, but there was no sign of them anywhere. You felt stupid walking down the middle isle of the tables and back again, shoes tapping on the wooden floor louder than you would have liked, scanning all of the tables and finding them at none. Although you were probably imagining it, you could feel the stares of the other students watching you pace up and down, and the heat rising in your face forced you to give up your fruitless search.

You weren’t sure if your Professor was sat at his table, watching you from afar as you wondered back and forth - you didn’t dare look. There was no telling how you would react if you had seen him so soon; would you be able to look away, or would your gaze have been so obvious as to draw the attention of others? Would one sparing glance give away your joint actions so inappropriate for your relationship? 

So, you didn’t check, instead deciding you would sit at the Hufflepuff table for once so that people would stop watching you; you at least knew some of the people sat there and knew Cal would probably rock up at some point. You started to put some food on your plate and filled your cup up with juice. It felt weird eating alone, as you had almost always had someone to talk with no matter what; it left you with way too much time to think loud thoughts about what your life had become in the past couple of days.

You didn’t like that you were unable to tell anyone about what had happened. Usually, you would tell Cara and Fennec everything, from the smallest little details to the biggest events in your life; in return, they did the same, and you’d barely ever kept a secret from each other once you had become friends. 

Still, this felt like something that wasn’t even your secret to tell, as much as you wanted to, and as much as it involved you – the stakes of knowing were too high, and there was no telling how much trouble you could get yourself or Professor Djarin into by divulging in your recent interactions.

You were beginning to finish up your food without having seen anyone for the entirety of lunch, when finally, you felt someone slip into the seat next to you, glad for it – you didn’t want to have to have you thoughts to yourself for any longer, and your friends always made the best distractions, even if you couldn’t get your problems off of your chest.

“Where have you been?” you asked, finally having the energy to smile. As you turned to face whoever had taken the seat next to you, you realised the short, dark hair and unfamiliar eyes belonged to none of your friends.

“Waiting for me, where you?” Toro laughed, slouching over the table to look at you from an angle with a smirk. “I didn’t know we’d become so close already.”

You made a small ‘oh’, trying to mask your disappointment with a polite, if not awkward smile. Though you didn’t want to come across as rude to the person who you wished you could become friends with, you were still sad that it was Toro who had sat there instead of Cal, Cara or Fennec – someone you could really talk to.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were Cal.” You explained, covering your blunder of a greeting. “I don’t know where anyone is today.”

“That’s why I came to sit with you; you’ve been alone all lunchtime, it’s the least we can do. We can get to know each other more before tomorrow!”

You hadn’t noticed Toro sat at the Slytherin table, far too engrossed in finding more familiar faces: you doubt you’d have sat there anyway, far too nervous to introduce yourself to a whole new group of strangers.

“Is there anywhere you would want to go in particular?” Toro carried on, propping his head up on his hand. The way he looked at you was odd; he seemed friendly enough, but there was something not completely right about his aura (not that you were particularly good at Divination when you had taken it), and in the back of your mind, you could tell something was off. Hoping it wasn’t that he was going to suggest Madame Puddifoot’s if you didn’t reply in time, you quickly thought about the shops at Hogsmeade, and blurted one out at random.

“Honeydukes!” 

You didn’t even need to go; you’d stocked up enough of all of your favourite sweets well before school had started.

“Great, me too.” He said, smirking. “We can go to the Three Broomsticks if you’d like, I haven’t had Butterbeer in ages.”

“Yeah, of course.” You agreed, knowing it practically illegal to go to Hogsmeade without grabbing at least one drink in the Three Broomsticks. 

You noticed people were beginning to leave their tables, some acting more frantic than others, signalling the end of lunch.

“Shall we go to class?” you asked, wondering if Toro would walk with you or go and find his friends before going there himself.

“We have potions?” he asked, seeming genuinely unsure, cocky attitude long forgotten. You nodded, and he added: “I hate potions; though, maybe not so much anymore.”

As you both picked up your things, you noticed he was waiting by you instead of leaving without you, and you were thankful; having someone as tall as him would probably help to get through the hordes of students faster, which was a necessity when you had a teacher who didn’t tolerate lateness, especially when you had already been lingering in the Great Hall for so long.

Toro smiled once you looked up at him, your way of saying you were ready to leave. Throwing his arm around your shoulders, he walked the two of you out of the hall at a steady pace, far slower than you would have preferred. Usually, you only let Cal touch you so casually; most people made you uncomfortable when they touched you, especially if the contact was prolonged, and you didn’t doubt Toro could tell from your ridged posture. He left his arm there despite your tense shoulders, but you felt like it would be rude to throw him off of you when you were trying your best to become friends with him.

By the time you reached potions, you were undoubtedly late.

Toro’s casual pace may have made no difference if it was any other class, and other students were still casually walking into their classrooms, unbothered by the time that had escaped you – no one loitered outside of Doctor Pershing’s classroom. Toro pushed the door open, you still stuck to his side in his iron-like hold, indifferent to the stares of your classmates and the glare coming from the Doctor himself. You, however, were a trembling mess, pale as a ghost, knowing what was about to happen well before it did.

“I’m glad you two could be bothered to turn up.” Doctor Pershing said; he was calm, rather than angry, and it scared you even more. He gestured to Toro’s arm around you, apparently an intimate gesture to him. “Was my class interrupting something?”

Before you could begin to apologise, Toro was already speaking.

“Not at all, Doctor. We were organising our trip to Hogsmeade, but we’re all done now.”

You wanted to die. 

It was hard to tell if Toro was trying to get a rise out of the Doctor, like it was his personal mission in life, or whether he was just, beyond a doubt, stupid. Either way, he wasn’t just making problems for himself, but you as well, dragging you further into the hole that had been dug the minute you walked in late.

“Then if you want to make it to Hogsmeade at all this year, I suggest you shut up and hand in your essays; preferably now, rather than later, or is that time frame too hard for you to understand, Mister Calican?”

Digging around in your bag, your palms stuck to every sheet of parchment they sorted to, a cold sweat washing over your body the combination of nerves and embarrassment. If people weren’t watching you in the Great Hall, they were certainly watching you now, eyes trained on you as you worked your way to your inevitable demise. No matter how many sheets you sifted through, you couldn’t find your potions essay that you had written in the library the night before; perhaps you would have to resort to begging for your life.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” Doctor Pershing asked, holding up a piece of parchment with your handwriting on it. 

Your blood ran cold. 

You had never gotten that essay back from Fennec.

“I found Miss Shand with it this morning, copying it, with Miss Dune copying her. You know as much as I hate plagiarism, I also have a strong dislike for those who enable it. Both of you see me tonight for detention, and I expect two new essays from you both produced by Monday.”

“I can’t.” you mumbled, afraid to look the Doctor in the face. By now, the room was silent, everyone focusing solely on your interaction despite what hellfire the Doctor may inflict upon them if they didn’t complete their set task on time.

“What was that?” he asked, feigning shock. “You can’t? Why ever not?”

“I already have detention tonight.”

Not that many people in the class knew you personally, but most knew you had hardly ever received detentions; the ones you had received were mostly in your earlier years at Hogwarts, when you didn’t know better and got into too much mischief with Cara and Cal (usually both separate, bad influences). The whole class was listening intently for whatever Doctor Pershing’s reaction would be, and so did you, with a bit more apprehension.

“With whom? You do know I will call that teacher here to check you’re not lying, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir. It’s with Professor Djarin.”

This elicited a gasp from a select few students, who quickly shut their mouths when the Doctor whipped his head around to glare at them. Most were wondering how you had received a detention from one of the most notoriously placid professors at Hogwarts, especially when you were a student who hardly ever did anything wrong; a student directly related to the headmaster, who could overrule any such detention if he wished it.

“Very well. Take a seat, and get to work. I’ll see you both on Monday night, instead. Six O’clock sharp.”

Slinking into your seat next to another Hufflepuff who observed you with large eyes, you hung your head and resigned yourself to the work that had been set.

Toro didn’t try to pass you any notes that class, instead throwing you a sheepish glance that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. You had to have been imagining it, though; there was no way he had thrown you under the bus intentionally, and most of it was your fault for giving Fennec that essay in the first place. So, you decided you would try to forget all about it, and give Toro the benefit of the doubt. Still, you thought it best to get out of his way quickly, lest he see you cry over a detention again – you weren’t ready to be that close to him.

\---

When everyone started to pack up, you peeled yourself from your wooden stool faster than you ever had before. Doctor Pershing had just returned from the hallway where he had been called to speak to somebody, and had dismissed the lass without a second glance. Parchment was thrown in your bag haphazardly, the lid of the inkpot barely screwed on before it was lobbed in there too, not even a second thought given to it spilling over the rest of the items in there. You were lucky you hadn’t, after all, done your practical that day, as carting your cauldron away would have slowed you down immensely.

“Wait,” you heard come from further into the classroom, but you had begun to escape the potions room much faster than Toro could’ve hoped to put his things away and catch up with you. The door was in your sight, and Toro wasn’t, and you planned on taking as many shortcuts back to the Hufflepuff dormitories as quickly as you could; the tears prickling in your eyes were only spurring you on. 

That was, until a hand grabbed your shoulder as you passed through a doorway, effectively halting your fleeing from the scene. Looking up in shock, you were unable to hide any emotion from your captor, especially that of panic as you realised Toro was about to catch up with you. As you looked over your shoulder back into the room, you saw him waving at you as if to tell you to stop what you were doing.

As you looked back, the person who had apprehended you seemed to realise how uncomfortable you were in that moment, and connected the dots with the way Toro was yelling at you to wait for him.

“Let’s go somewhere else.” Professor Djarin grumbled, taking your upper arm and pulling you away from the potions classroom hurriedly, further into the dungeons, opposite to the direction in which you would go to leave. You weren’t sure what he was doing as he dragged you faster and faster down the hallways, until he pushed open the door to an empty classroom and shoved you in, following suit and gently closing the door behind him. “Are you alright? I wanted to talk to you, but that boy was following you and you didn’t look particularly pleased at the sight of him.”

Oh. Toro must have been followed the two of you for a while down the halls, but you doubted even the most avid adventurers had gone too far into the dungeon hallways, and it must’ve been too hard for him to keep up.

“Thank you,” you whispered meekly, suddenly aware of where you now were, as your heart began to beat quicker than it was used to. Though you didn’t feel like crying anymore, there wasn’t really any way of you stopping the tears escaping your eyes as the adrenaline from running wore off.

Full of junk, and everything covered in layers of dust, it was clear the classroom you’d ended up in hadn’t been used in decades. It was unclear what the function of the place once was, though the plethora of books stacked against the wall suggested it had once at some point hosted the study of ancient runes, and astronomy.

Looking back to your Professor, you noticed he was now dressed as he usually was, dark brown wool trousers, a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and less usual, braces embroidered with leaves. On one hand, you were glad; it was much easier to think clearly when you weren’t drooling over him, but now you knew what he looked like without the clothes he wore hiding the shape of his body, you were mad.

“I, um, heard from Doctor Pershing about the detention. Is that what’s up?” Professor Djaran asked awkwardly, unsure as how to proceed when such a grown student started crying in front of him.

“A bit,” you sniffled, embarrassed that you had let your Professor see you like this, and that you were unable to stop. Did he want you to explain why you were avoiding Toro, or was he more concerned about what had happened shortly before? “What did you need to talk about?” you asked with a stutter, trying to deflect the conversation from yourself.

“I believe you have something for me.” He explained, and you remembered you had never had the chance to hand over his package. “It’s a bit urgent, so I thought I’d come and collect it myself.”

“Oh, I do! I’m sorry, I forgot I had it.” You struggled to say. It was only a half lie. It wasn’t your fault something happened every time you tried to pass it off.

Turning and placing your bag carefully on one of the dusty desks behind you, you pushed the contents out of the way until you found the parcel, still neatly wrapped up in its brown paper confines like nothing had ever happened to it. You pulled it out with a little triumphant sigh, and turned back around to face your Professor, holding it out on an open palm.

“Thank you.” He said, now closer to you than he had been previously. You hadn’t heard him take a step from where you had left him, but now he was there, towering over you a hair’s width away. His hands were warm, brushing over yours as he took the small parcel from your offering hand before slipping it into the front pocket of his trousers. 

You were happy the thing was gone; maybe now you would finally be free from the curse that Professor Djarin had become.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” your Professor asked, closing what little space there was between you to gently wipe away the tears staining your face. “If you need me to talk to that boy, I can.” he paused, gaging your reaction to his touch before he continued, smoothing your hair down and away from your face. 

It seemed as though he as struggling, with himself and with what to say to you to calm you down. While your crying had turned to small hiccups rather than streaming tears, it was more because of your Professor’s gesture of intimacy rather than his fumbled-for words.

“I can’t help it.” You said, rubbing the places on your face where your Professor had touched – it felt like he had rubbed fire into your skin. “A lot has happened in the last couple of days, I can’t really control it. I was like this last night, too.”

“You were?” he asked, obviously upset that he’d contributed to your current mood.

“It’s okay Professor, really. I’ll be right as rain in time for Quidditch, so it’s fine.”

“Oh, of course. I wanted to wish you luck, but we haven’t really had the chance.”

You thanked him awkwardly, picking at the fibres of your skirt that had pulled from the material. Now you had slowed your crying, the atmosphere in the room had shifted, and you were nervous. Too many emotions flooded your senses, and you weren’t sure how to politely slip away while your Professor still caged you against the desk with his body. 

Glancing up at him, preparing yourself to ask him to excuse you, you noticed he was no longer looking at you with that look of fearful pity he had when you had been crying. His gaze was fixed on your face, rather than apprehensively diverting his eyes anywhere but you. Something about him was different, unreadable, and you words died on your tongue.

“Professor?” you asked, looking through your eyelashes, hoping he would let you pass without having to ask. That seemed to snap him out of his daze, though it was as though he had woken up to be someone completely different, no longer a caring man but a hungry beast.

Your eyes widened as he bent down slightly in front of you, wrapping his warm palms around the back of your thighs under your skirt. His touch made you gasp, calloused fingers splaying across your supple flesh as he hoisted you up without strain, completely lifting you off of the floor. Squeezing your thighs, skin burning in every place where he touched you, he froze as though he were deciding whether his actions were right.

“Professor, what are you doing?” you asked as he pushed you onto the dusty desk behind you, one hand trailing up the front of your leg now that it was at an easier height for him to reach, the other caressing your waist through the thin material of your shirt that was now suddenly all too thick and hot for your liking.

Sweat dripped down the back of your neck from the stodgy heat of the classroom, and your mouth went dry; you moved your arms up, partially to allow more room for your Professor to touch you, sparks of electricity jumping through your nerves and leaving you craving more, and partially to stabilise yourself on the desk by hanging onto your Professor’s broad shoulders. He was tense, the large muscles of his shoulders and back taut and prominent through the shirt he wore.

“I don’t know.” 

Your brain short circuited – signals stopped passing between synapses, and you went blank. 

Professor Djarin surged forward, probably before he had too much time to think about what he was doing, and crashed his lips against yours. Circling his arm around your waist, he pulled you tighter to him, forcing your legs to part as he brought himself impossibly closer to you, hot breath fanning your face in the brief moments he took a chance to breathe. 

Too stunned to at first, you closed your eyes, and whined into his mouth; you pulled him down to you by his shoulders, knocking off his braces that were looser than they looked, spurring him on with your reciprocation. Colours swirled behind your eyes, bright reds and deep greens painting a picture with the thoughts you had that were too rapid to think about. 

You imagined the forest; that’s what he smelled like. A mix of dirt, rain and tree bark, every now and then the smell of something sweet. Something about him reminded you of being home; whether it was the smell of the earth or being held securely in his arms, you were unwilling to admit it, and unwilling to let that feeling go. 

When he bit your lip, your mouth parted with a gasp, making room for your Professor to slip his tongue past and deepen the kiss. His own lips were slightly chapped, rough in contrast, making the reality of the situation seem all that more real. Your Professor tasted like cherries – in a brief moment of clarity, you thought about the cherry tree in the back gardens behind the greenhouses, and what it would be like to get fucked up against it.

Though he was being as gentle as he could with you at that moment, you could tell he was restraining himself, stopping himself from scaring you off too soon; he was a wolf, and you were his rabbit, blissfully unaware of the danger lurking in the dark. At one point, the feeling of being caged in by your Professor instilled nothing but nervousness, his larger frame looming over you with dominion. Now, you revelled in the feeling of him pressed against you, trapping you under his weight while he assaulted you in the way you had desired the most.

Slowly, Professor Djarin began trailing his hands up your body before settling his hands around the base of your neck, unintentionally tickling your sides as he went, his fingers ghosting over the thin fabric of your shirt. Tugging on your tie to loosen it up, you couldn’t help but go weak; though he seemed sweeter than he had that morning, perhaps diluted in emotions after your display of waterworks, you couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like if it was that morning’s version of your Professor kissing you now.

“Is this okay?” he mumbled into your lips, fingers fiddling with the top buttons of your shirt whilst he waited for your answer. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to refuse him if he always spoke as warmly as he did at that moment, and you nodded, affirming with a meek ‘mm-hm’.

Now confident in his actions, there was nothing to stop your Professor as he practically ripped your buttons apart, exposing the top of your chest and neck to his hungry gaze.

“Ah!” 

It was impossible to keep as quiet as you had been when Professor Djarin advanced on the newly exposed skin with his mouth. As gentle as he had been, he seemed to forget himself as he mouthed around the column of your throat, kissing and nipping at the skin there; in one place, at the meeting between your collar bone and neck, he worried his teeth and kissed so hard you knew it was bound to leave a bruise. In the future, you knew you would be mad at him – without uniform, it would be almost impossible to cover up – but in the moment, all you could associate it with was that he was marking you as his.

As much as you were enjoying yourself, the dampness in your knickers was making you uncomfortable. Shifting on top of the table did nothing to relieve the pressure between your thighs, and it was driving you mad. Noticing this, your Professor lifted your hips slightly, pulled you forward, and pressed his own against you.

“P-Professor,” you moaned into his soft hair, tugging on it as your hips twitched. Even through the layers of fabric (that felt like many more than there were), you could feel how hard his erection was, pressing into your core with want. 

This was going to make up most of your late night fantasies for weeks – maybe even years – and this time, you didn’t mind the thought.

Grinding into him, you felt the pressure relieving, but you were greedy; dropping your hands from their place in your Professor’s hair, where they had combed through it so much it looked like an owl’s nest, you tucked them between your bodies and reached for the buttons of his trousers.

Without warning, Professor Djarin pulled away; you sobbed at the loss of contact. His face was flushed, and eyes wide, like he had just been exorcised of the demon possessing him. Panting, he pulled up his braces and adjusted himself in his trousers, damp with combined need - the swell of his lips was emphasised by his breathlessness, and you knew you wouldn’t look too dissimilar.

“I’m sorry, did I do something?” you asked, afraid of the answer.

“No,” he replied, voice cracking. “Not at all. It’s me, I – I need to go. Going to be late. I’ll, um… I’ll see you tonight.”

“Oh, okay.” You said more to yourself, as you watched Professor Djarin walk briskly out of the room, throwing one last small smile over his shoulder before he disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol I lied that took ages to write, sorry. Still, I want to thank everyone for their comments! It means the world to me that you're enjoying this story.


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